


L'Amour Est Un Oiseau Rebelle

by elemsee



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Choking, Daddy Kink, F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 04:32:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17932883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elemsee/pseuds/elemsee
Summary: You knew Dutch would never maliciously hurt you, he adored you far too much for that. But you knew you were in trouble — the kinds of trouble that had certainly earned punishment.





	L'Amour Est Un Oiseau Rebelle

**Author's Note:**

> Habanera and The Flower Duet, the two songs mentioned in this, are two of the songs featured in game. Also, I've spent so much time researching arias and gramophones for this piece. My Google history is looking real strange right now.
> 
> Also: L'Amour Est Un Oiseau Rebelle = Love is a rebellious bird. It's a line from Habanera.

You could feel it in the air before you'd even cleared the trees — the uncomfortable, almost suffocating weight of a brewing storm. It was obvious as soon as you spotted Javier on guard duty, as he greeted you and Sadie with a simple "Ladies," his lips pressed into a firm line.

Admittedly, it had been Sadie's idea, following yet another confrontation between her and Pearson — "Let's go show that sweaty old fool what the women are capable of!" — but you weren't willing to let her single-handedly take the responsibility for what you had chosen to do. You had wanted to do it just as much as she did.

Sadie had practically _galloped_  to you in camp two days earlier, hissing in your ear about her discovery of a stagecoach due to travel from Valentine to Saint Denis carrying a substantial amount of money. Unfortunately, Pearson had cottoned on to the conversation as he sauntered past, and proceeded to make a scene — a scene which had also caught Dutch's attention.

You loved Dutch and you knew the love was reciprocated, but _God_ , was he stubborn as a mule sometimes.

"I'm gonna have to insist that you drop whatever this is that you and Mrs Adler are planning. Your dedication to our cause is admirable, but sweetheart, please, I can't have anything happenin' to you. Your place is here at camp, with the women, with Jack."

"But Dutch, I —"

"That's _e_ _nough_. This is my final word. You're not going to rob that goddamn stagecoach!"

You'd chosen to mirror his obstinacy as you lay in bed that night with your back to him, refusing to talk. You silently seethed at the fact that he thought he could treat you as his property, as though you were a fine china doll he feared getting broken.

Before the sunrise had even begun to peek upon the horizon you had arisen, yours and Sadie's voices nothing more than hushed whispers as you loaded supplies onto your horses and rode away into the distance, ignoring Charles' suspicious line of questioning as you passed him through the trees.

Despite Dutch's fears that you would be hurt, it had actually gone better than you and Sadie had thought. You'd worked it as a cloak and dagger job, much to Sadie's chagrin — she waited in hiding while you distracted the driver, then she used her lockpicking skills to ransack the chest strapped to the back. The stagecoach was long gone before they could even think to notice there was anything missing.

The most alarming thing you'd noticed upon hitching your horse and stepping into camp that evening was that the flaps of the tent you shared with Dutch were closed. Your stomach betrayed you with a nervous flip. He never normally kept his tent closed — and immediately you knew. You were in trouble.

Even Sadie seemed sheepish as she shot you a wide-eyed look, striding across camp with the stagecoach haul in hand to put the gang's proceeds into the donation tin.

You could've sworn your footsteps were loud as gunfire as you walked across camp, grass crunching as it folded beneath the weight of your feet. You became acutely aware of the sound of Pearson tentatively chopping up some meat on his table, and you swore even Jack's voice was hushed as he engaged in conversation with Abigail.

Susan approached you once you were a few strides away from your doom. "Dutch wants to speak with you." Her tone was unquestionably frosty and she was gone again in a heartbeat, clearly uninterested in engaging you further.

You drew in a quick breath as you reached the tent, canvas rough against your trembling fingers as you pulled back one of the flaps and stepped inside, the smell of stale cigar smoke almost slapping you in the face as you entered.

Your eyes caught the sight of his curly locks before his face. Dutch was perched on the end of the bed, head bowed, hands threaded together as they dangled between his open legs. Your throat was tight as you waited for him to say something, _anything_.

You knew Dutch would never maliciously hurt you, he adored you far too much for that. But you knew you were in trouble — the kinds of trouble that had certainly earned punishment.

"Where the hell have you been?" He refused to look at you, his voice low and thick. The word _been_  was tinged with an emotion you couldn't quite place, not anger at all, but — concern? Desperation?

There was little point in answering his rhetorical question. He knew where you'd been.

You knew it wasn't really your act of rebellion that had bothered Dutch the most. He knew you were the independent sort — it was one of the things he loved about you. No, you knew it was the fact that you could've easily been in danger, fighting the sorts of battles he hadn't wanted you to get involved in. That had been Annabelle's undoing. He swore he wasn't going to lose you too.

Of course, he wasn't prepared to admit that. Dutch van der Linde was a chess puzzle. Wouldn't lay bare his feelings quite that simply. You hadn't done what you were _told_ , and right now, that was that.

Outside, you could hear the hustle and bustle of camp begin again, the previous deathly silence replaced with the familiar noises of your friends going about their evening plans.

"Sadie and I got the money, we didn't have no trouble!" You spoke fast, desperate to get the sentence out, as though it was an adequate rebuttal for your insolence.

"Some days I just don't know what to do with the way you insist on testing my patience, woman," Dutch growled, and then he was upright in his seat.

"Dutch, I'm sorry —"

He raised his hand to silence you, and you barely had time to think before he stood up, stalking towards you with a hungry glint in his gaze that made heat pool low in your stomach.

You parted your lips with a gasp as he reached you, his hand finding you first as it gripped at your throat firmly. There was that familiar sordid darkness lurking within his deep brown eyes, and you swallowed hard, immediately recognising what this sort of punishment you were in for.

"Now, I think the time has passed for mere apologies," Dutch's voice was a gruff whisper as he continued to stare you down, "Words seem to mean very little to you, as you've clearly proven. So, what's it gonna be, Princess? You gonna _show_  me just how sorry you are?"

You opened your mouth to speak, but his hand gripped tighter, forcing your response into all but a whimper. You pressed both hands against his chest, gripping tightly at his shirt with one, feeling the sudden coldness of his Sheriff badge against the palm of the other. Your entire body was trembling as his free hand reached your hip, tugging you closer to him.

"I believe I asked you a question, Miss." Dutch loosened his grip — only ever so slightly — and your lungs sought out the air it desperately needed with a gasping inhale.

"Y-yes," came your croaky reply.

"Yes what?"

You could feel his growing hardness pressed against your thigh. Your mind was hazy, and you weren't sure if it was from the lack of oxygen or your sudden arousal, or both. "Yes, Daddy."

Dutch hummed in approval as he released his grip upon your neck. The subsequent kiss he pulled you into was fervent and _biting,_  like the feel of a chill upon your skin on a winter's morning, and you found yourself breathless as he pulled away, your bottom lip sore from the fierce attention his teeth had given it.

Distractions were surrounding you everywhere as Dutch gripped you tightly by the wrist, guiding you over to the bed where he returned to his previously occupied seat — you could hear Arthur talking to Charles, Karen's obnoxiously loud laughter and hell, even the crackle of the campfire was audible. You must have zoned out, because a sudden feeling of pleasurable pain on your chest made you cry out and refocus. You glanced down to see the cause, only to find Dutch's hand upon one clothed breast, pinching unrelentingly at your nipple. His eyes were daggers upon yours.

"Did you even hear what I said?" he asked quietly, his voice dripping with impatience.

You shook your head, ashamed. His fingers twisted just a little harder and then released, and you were somewhat disappointed by the loss of contact. He grasped your wrist again, yanking your body close to his, leaning up just slightly so that his lips could find your ear, his thick moustache tickling as he nipped at the lobe.

"I said, go and put some of my music on, and then come back here and get on your knees. Daddy is gonna fuck that pretty mouth of yours." His baritone drawl reverberated around your entire body, making you feel weak. The sound of his voice never failed to drive you crazy, and he knew it.

You nodded eagerly, making a beeline straight for the gramophone in the corner. His favourite record — Habanera from the opera Carmen — already lay on the turntable, ready to be played. You gripped the handle to wind up the motor and gently touched the needle to the disc. Within seconds the music began, the effortless dulcet tones of the female singer wafting around the tent.

You turned to face Dutch and he beckoned you silently with a single finger. The frustration of his unsated desire was etched clearly upon his face, dark eyes hooded and his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he stared you down.

You dropped to your knees in front of him without another thought, making short work of the pretty gold buttons on his trousers to yank them halfway down his thighs. You tried hard to stifle a moan as you finally found what you'd been looking for — Dutch's thick cock sprang free in front of your face, flushing red at the tip and already leaking precum. You shifted forward on your knees, pressing your lips gently to the tip, enjoying the way he tasted on your tongue.

It didn't take long before your entire mouth had engulfed his length, and your eyes remained firmly on Dutch's face as you watched him lose himself in his pleasure. His eyes were squeezed shut, jaw slack, one hand scrabbling at the bed linen below him while the other gripped your hair.

His cock hit the back of your throat and you gagged, making him groan gruffly. "So good for me," he spoke, a little louder than you expected him to, "Oh yeah, _that's_ what Daddy likes." You smirked, considering that he was clearly too far gone in his pleasure to care about whether anyone in the immediate area actually heard him or not.

He thrusted his hips up again and again as you choked around his length. The sounds falling from Dutch's mouth were heavenly to your ears — hoarse moans and sighs, gasps when you reached underneath to play with his balls, the occasional curse and murmur of your name — and you squirmed in pleasure against the ground, clit tingling and throbbing as you considered how primal and downright _f_ _ilthy_  this entire situation felt, him using you as nothing more than a toy for his satisfaction.

His hand fisted in your hair roughly, pushing your head against his cock in time with his thrusts, until all at once you felt his entire body shudder and then still — a long, guttural groan leaving his lips as he flooded your mouth. You swallowed all of it in earnest, and ran your hands softly up and down his thighs as you removed your mouth from him with a pop.

Quiet engulfed the tent once more. The music had come to a stop, though you weren't sure how long ago — admittedly you'd been so engrossed in bringing Dutch to climax that you weren't paying attention to anything else — and all you could hear were the ragged sounds of your breathing, and the shuffling sounds of Dutch pulling his trousers back up.

"My good girl," Dutch cooed as he pulled you up onto his lap, peppering your neck with sloppy kisses and suckles. He made short work of your shirt and bra — they were in a crumpled pile on the floor within seconds — and he clearly revelled in finally having access to your breasts, his fingers eagerly pinching at your nipples until they stood at attention for him. You were lost in your frustrations, mewling and grinding unashamedly against him to seek out the friction you desperately craved.

Dutch's lips found your ear, his voice a raspy grumble as he spoke. "Go and lay down on the bed for me."

You didn't need to be told twice, and practically jumped from his lap to sprawl out on the bed. Dutch strolled across the room to open up a chest which sat next to the gramophone. You watched him curiously as he rummaged through the chest — and your eyes widened when he returned clutching a pair of handcuffs in his hands.

"Give me your hands, darlin'," came his voice, firm but quiet. "You've already run out on me once today, we can't have you escaping again, can we?" He continued, noticing your cocked brow.

Dutch van der Linde was never the type of man to let things go easily.

You obliged immediately despite this, a thrill flashing through you as you wondered what he had in mind for you. He was surprisingly gentle as he held your hands above your head, cuffing them against the wooden side panelling of the tent.

As you watched him work, you admired how _gorgeous_  he looked in that moment — his hair dishevelled, top two buttons undone on his white shirt, his red vest undone and draping down across both sides of his torso — and you longed to touch him.

Once satisfied with his work Dutch hummed happily, leaning forward to plant a quick kiss on your lips. He was gone again in an instant, leaving you squirming against the bedroll as he stepped over to the gramophone. You watched him replace the disc and heard that familiar crackle as the music began. The Flower Duet.

Your brisk heartbeat thumped heavily in your ears as he returned to you. He dropped to his knees in front of you, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards into a smirk as he dealt with removing your trousers and underwear. A heavy clunking sound rang out as your belt was tossed aside. You shivered as the chill of the open air made contact with your now-bare legs. Dutch's hands were pleasantly warm as he drifted them up your skin from foot to thigh, parting your thighs with a gentleness that you hadn't expected from him given the circumstances.

Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers skimmed lightly down your inner thigh with one hand, the other gripping at your opposite knee. Dutch's gaze flicked up to meet yours, hooded and devilish, and you struggled to hold back a whimper as you felt one single digit ghosting over your clit, such a light touch that part of you wondered if you'd _imagined_  it.

The second touch was lower and slightly firmer, prodding ever so slightly between your soaking folds, his thick index finger drowning in your juices as he twirled it around thoughtfully, tactfully. This time you couldn't stop the moan that escaped your mouth. Definitely hadn't imagined _that_  one.

"You're so wet, darlin'," Dutch murmured, and then the next touch was exactly what you'd been waiting for — his finger knuckle deep inside you in one swift, frictionless movement. His middle finger joined the party immediately, and you gasped, both at the feeling of fullness and the sudden chill of his rings pressing up against your nub. He wiggled both digits teasingly, curling them exactly where you needed them before beginning a slow, pistoning motion inside you. The slick squelch of his movements was a delightfully filthy sound, refusing to be drowned out by the music, and you were equally thrilled and concerned by the idea that anyone walking past the tent would hear and know exactly what was going on.

The concern quickly evaporated as Dutch continued his assault, and you could feel that familiar pressure building within you. Behind you, the music on the gramophone finally came to an end, and you bit down on your bottom lip in an attempt to muffle your moans, knowing they would no longer be drowned out.

Without warning Dutch pulled out both fingers, leaving you a wide-eyed, writhing, empty mess as he stood up. "Guess I'd better change the record," came his smug voice, and he stared directly at you as he popped his soaked fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean.

You glared up at him furiously. Your entire body was trembling.

That familiar crackle and music flooded the tent once more — this time a song you didn't recognise — and Dutch was back to his place between your thighs. You flashed him a look of contempt, to which he only responded with a gruff laugh.

"Now, you didn't think I was going to make this easy on you, did ya, darlin'?" he said, his voice low, an almost ominous tone to it. He grabbed you by both legs and yanked you closer, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh.

"Dutch, _please_ ," you whimpered, straining desperately against the cuffs, your entire body feeling as though it was flooded with electricity.

"Please what?" Another kiss, this time a few inches closer to where you actually needed him, but still not quite _there_.

"Please, I need you," you tried to wiggle your hips but he was too strong, holding your body flush against the bed roll. His hands gripped at your thighs so tightly you were almost positive there would be bruises in the morning.

"Well now, there I was thinking that the word please didn't mean a damn thing in this relationship anymore. After all," Another kiss, and then he moved again, his mouth so close to your clit that you could feel the hairs of his moustache tickling you, "I told you to _please_ not ride off with Sadie to go robbin', and yet here we are."

_Dutch van der Linde was never the type of man to let things go easily._

His hot breath was torturous against you, and you whimpered again, on the brink of tears.

"Now now sweetheart, what is it you have to say to me?" His low baritone drawl almost vibrated against your skin as he spoke, tickling you mercilessly in all the most sensitive places.

A single sob escaped your mouth. You knew what he was fishing for, and you knew he'd sit and wait for hours if he had to. "I'm so sorry, really I am —"

A masochistic smirk manifested itself on Dutch's face, the corners of his eyes crinkling. _Bastard_. "And are you going to disobey me again?"

"N-no, never again, I promise."

It was a promise both of you knew you couldn't keep, but he seemed satisfied nonetheless.

"Good girl," he murmured, and all at once he attached his lips to your glistening clit, suckling gently. Your entire body jolted, eyes rolling back into your head as you revelled in the heavenly feeling between your legs. He lowered his head, tongue dancing expertly over your folds as his nose bumped against your sensitive nub.

You strained against the cuffs again, desperate to hold something as Dutch drove you closer to the edge, and you balled both your cold hands into tight fists. The music stopped again and you instantly noticed Dutch's eyes dart to the gramophone, an amused glint within them.

"Don't you fucking _dare_ , van der Linde," you hissed through gritted teeth. For a split second you felt afraid he _would_  dare, on account of your insubordination — but instead he huffed out a laugh and continued his ministrations, clearly satisfied that you'd suffered enough.

It didn't take long for your body to find the release you'd been chasing — a few more eager laps and twirls of Dutch's talented tongue and suddenly you saw stars, a long wail escaping your mouth as you rode each shattering wave of pleasure.

Dutch finally released you, standing up to undo the cuffs as you lay upon the bed roll, eyes closed, boneless and panting. Your arms were suddenly heavy upon your chest. You felt a shadow over you, and your eyes drifted open to find Dutch looming above you, grinning.

"Move over," he grunted, and you did so, making room for him on the bed as he shuffled in next to you, engulfing you in his arms.

There was an extended silence until, with a grin, you dared to speak. "Remind me to disobey you more often."

Dutch lifted his head up slowly, his eyes daggers as they met yours, the tiniest hint of amusement within them. You giggled against your palm.

At the campfire, Javier's eyes met Arthur's, both men sharing an exasperated sigh as the distant sound of girlish squeals and skin slapping against skin rang out from the confines of Dutch's tent.

"For _Chrissakes_ , drown them out, will ya?" Arthur grumbled, gesturing to Javier's guitar behind him. The younger man immediately obliged with a chuckle, and Arthur was quite sure he'd never sung so loudly in his entire life.


End file.
